The Mirror (The Lost Bride Trilogy #2)

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

By late afternoon, Sonya dug herself so deep into the work she didn’t notice Cleo going downstairs. Just after five, she surfaced with a jolt at the bong of the doorbell.

“I’ve got it!” Cleo called up.

Shortly after, Cleo and Owen stopped at the library doors. Yoda raced out to greet Jones. Jones responded with a dignified wag, and pointedly ignored the cat, who slunk behind them.

“We’re going up to the studio. If you’re not done when we’re done up there, don’t worry about it. I can draft Owen as sous chef.”

“I’m about ready to shut down. Brain’s starting to fizzle.”

“I’ll just dump my gear in the room first,” Owen said.

When he walked down the hall, Cleo gestured. “Look at that. She’s following him just like the dogs. When he came in the house, she went right to him, started winding around his legs.”

“Hussy.”

“I know, right? She and his dog didn’t even acknowledge each other. But when Owen reached down to give Pye a stroke, Jones looked away. It was disgust, Son, I swear it. And Pye? She purred. Orgasmically.”

“I think you’re jealous.”

“Maybe. A little bit.” She shrugged it off, and when Owen walked back, trailed by the cat and two dogs, told Sonya, “We shouldn’t be long.”

“Take your time. I’ll be ready when you are.”

Cleo started up the stairs. “I didn’t figure you for a cat person.”

Owen glanced at her. “Why not?”

“Eye-patch dog.”

“Dogs, cats. Whatever. Animals are usually easier to deal with than a lot of people. Dead or alive. Did she show up last night to take her dive?”

“Can’t say, but we have stories to tell. Let’s do this first.”

On the third floor, he looked down toward the Gold Room.

“Quiet now.”

“She rumbled a little this afternoon.”

“And yet you spend a lot of time up here.”

“No way in hell she’s robbing me of my studio.”

When they stepped in, he saw why. Because all he saw was the painting.

The beauty on the rocks, the colors, the details down to the water streaming from the sounding whale.

And the magic in the globe.

He set the tube he carried on the worktable.

“She’s going to be worth the wait. Jesus, she’s… I haven’t got the word for her, and I’ve got plenty of words when I need them.”

He took his eyes off the art to look at the artist. “I knew you were good. I didn’t know you were this good.”

“I think she’s the best thing I’ve ever done, so you’d better take good care of her.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.” He stepped closer.

“Don’t touch!”

“Right.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’re right about the frame, and I can make one that suits her. I need the measurements.”

“Twenty-four by thirty inches, one and three-eighths deep.”

“Is that exact?”

“It is.”

“Okay then. Got it. You’d better see the design, because once I start, I start. No changing your mind.”

“When I make it up, I stick.” Cleo planted a hand on her hip. “When I make a deal, I keep it.”

“Then take a look, and make it up.”

The cat jumped on the back of the love seat, where she watched the dogs like a queen watched her subjects.

At the worktable, Owen slid out and arranged the drafting papers.

Cleo said nothing as she stared at the sketches, from port, from starboard, from bow, and from stern.

Carved mermaids swam up the sides. Another, hair flowing back, graced the bow.

Her mermaid, she realized. He’d replicated the face, the hair, on the boat she’d traded her for.

He said it to her, and now she thought it of him.

She hadn’t known he was this good.

“Unexpected,” she managed. Pressing her fingers to her lips, she turned away.

“Listen, you want something else—”

She just waved a hand, breathed out, turned back to him. The evening sun streamed in the windows behind her, shot a halo around her hair.

“I haven’t had my own pet or my own boat since I moved to Boston. Other things took priority. Like school, then getting my toe in a career. I moved here, and there was Yoda, so I had him, even though he’s Sonya’s. And today I got Pye. You knew where her name came from when I told you what I’d called her.”

“Sure. It’s a great movie. I like old movies.”

“Yeah, so do I. I knew you’d build me a boat that was sound, would handle well. A boat I’d enjoy sailing in the lovely bay. But I didn’t expect you to come up with one that speaks to me like that one would. Can you really do that? Those carved mermaids?”

“Well, yeah. Why would I spend time designing what I couldn’t build?”

“Well, it’s perfect. More than perfect. And before you tell me to, I’ll promise to take good care of her. How long do I have to wait to take her out?”

He glanced back at the painting. “Several months.”

She laughed, shook her head. “Really?”

“Because I’ve already started on her. If you didn’t want her, someone would.”

“You already started on her,” Cleo murmured. “I want her. Nobody else captains The Siren .”

He had to smile. “Named her already?”

“No other name would do.”

“Good name.” He walked to her, held out a hand. “Deal.”

“Deal,” she agreed. “But let’s be real. This exchange deserves more than a hearty handshake.”

She moved right in on him, laid her hands on his shoulders. The look in her eyes told him she intended the kiss to be light and playful.

He had other ideas.

So when she brushed her lips to his, he gave her a little jerk forward and turned on the heat.

It had been simmering for a while, and if it hadn’t simmered in her, too, he figured she’d let him know real quick.

He felt her surprise, but no resistance. Then the hand on his shoulder slid up until her fingers threaded through his hair.

She turned up the heat a few more notches.

He had a way, and that wasn’t a surprise to her. Good strong hands gripped her hips, and his mouth was confident and experienced on hers.

She let herself fall into the moment, rode the storm of it that tossed testing and teasing aside and embraced unapologetic lust.

And in that moment what happened inside her body wasn’t a stirring but an eruption. She not only accepted it, but clung to it, grateful.

From her pocket, Marvin Gaye suggested “Let’s Get It On.”

Not yet, not quite yet, Cleo told herself.

And in the next moment, they stood, bodies still molded together, faces close, eyes open and watchful.

“Time to step back,” she decided.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. And regretfully. We’ll just…” She put a hand to his cheek, then eased back. “Put this aside for a while.”

“A while.”

“We’re grown-up people, so we both know the next step, if we take it, is sex. I have rules about that.”

“Hey, me, too. What are yours?”

“First, no sex with married men, or men in serious relationships. Even those in casual relationships get a pass. First round can be a one-off, no harm, no foul. But no second round or beyond unless it’s exclusive on both sides. Any who want to sleep with other women, go right ahead, but I won’t be one of them.”

“Is that it?”

“Oh, the list goes on and covers things like respect and honesty and so forth, but those are the broad, essential terms. Yours?”

“No married women, no women tangled up with some other guy—that’s just stupid. No problem with a one-nighter if things fall that way. She says no—and there’s more ways to say no than a two-letter word—you suck it up and take no. And I’m not going to have sex with a woman who’s going to bounce off me to someone else. I’m not going to roll off her and roll onto someone else. Either way, that’s just insulting.”

Jones walked over to sit beside him, like a wingman.

“If I’m reading this right,” Owen continued, “you’re saying no to me climbing in your bed tonight.”

“I am.” She gave him a long look out of amber eyes. “Regretfully.”

“But not no altogether.”

“I like you. I liked you right off. You never pressured Sonya, never made her feel guilty about coming out of nowhere to inherit this house and all the rest.”

She held up a hand when he started to speak.

“You could have, if you were someone else. But that’s not you, so I liked you. And I know a true friend when I see one, because I’m one. You’re a true friend to Trey, and loyalty ranks high with me. I’ve got a lot of respect for the no-bullshit types, which you seem to be.

“But what went beyond that, for me, is the way you went with Sonya, no hesitation, through that damn mirror.”

“Look, I’ll take credit for that if it cuts down on the a while , but what the hell else was I supposed to do?”

She smiled at that. “And that you’d ask that, have that mildly annoyed attitude when you do is exactly why I like you and find you attractive.”

“Then why aren’t I climbing into your bed tonight?”

“Because once we start, it’ll be hard to stop if either of us decide to.” She spread her hands. “Friendships. Yours to Trey, mine to Sonya, mine to Trey, yours to Sonya. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been able to stay friendly with an ex. On the surface, maybe, but not underneath. Because, well, they’re an ex for a reason.”

“You got me there. Trey and Bree manage it, but I think that’s an exception.”

“So a while.”

“Deal,” he said, and put his hands on her again.

She laughed. “Sneaky. I like sneaky.”

He hadn’t been wrong about the simmering, and if he was any judge, it wouldn’t be long to flashpoint.

So he could wait. A while.

Sonya stepped into the doorway just as they broke apart. And immediately stepped back. “Oh, well. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Cleo told her, her eyes still on Owen. “We were just sealing a deal.”

“You were up here longer than I… I thought I should check. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Cleo repeated. “Come take a look at my boat.”

When Cleo walked to the worktable, a clearly flustered Sonya followed.

“Maybe I’ll just… Oh my God! This is the boat? Mermaids! Oh, this is so you, Cleo. Owen, this is so absolutely Cleo. It’s perfect.”

“Say that again when I finish building it. Got any beer?”

“Yes. Oh, I love this. It almost makes me want one of my own.”

“You’re getting a doghouse.”

Smiling, Sonya looked over at him. “Am I?”

“We made a deal.”

“Deals all around,” Cleo said. “And I need to start dinner.”

“Ready to help.”

“I’m going to roll the plans up, stick them in my room. I’ll be right down for that beer.”

As they walked out, Sonya looked at Cleo, waved a hand in front of her face as if fanning away heat. Cleo just rolled her eyes, gave Sonya a poke with her elbow.

“I want to hear all about it,” Sonya muttered.

“Later. Dinner needs to happen, and I’m behind there.”

“Because you were busy kissing Owen.”

“Among other things. Not those things.” Another eye roll. “Looking at the boat design, discussing.”

“It’s going to be beautiful, and so uniquely yours. I have to say, he really gets you.”

As they came down the main stairs, the door opened. Mookie charged in, followed by Trey.

Pleased he’d used his key, Sonya went straight to him, wrapped close, lifted her mouth for a kiss.

“We’ve been up looking at the design for Cleo’s boat. It’s amazing.”

“I’ve seen it, and agree.”

“Dinner’s going to be a little later,” Cleo told him. “Sonya and I have to get started.”

“I’ll put my stuff up and give you a hand where I can. Hey,” he said as Owen came down with Jones, and the cat.

“Who’s this?”

“My cat. Pyewacket. She’s apparently attached herself to Owen.”

Trey bent down, gave her a long, smooth stroke. And she arched under his hand, purred like a well-tuned engine.

“And appears to be fickle,” Cleo added. “We’ll let the dogs and Pye out, and get started.”

“You’re letting the cat out with the dogs?”

“I’m housebreaking her,” Cleo told Trey.

“Okay, well, that should be interesting.”

“Getting a beer,” Owen said. “You want?”

“I do. Two minutes.”

“Hurry down. We have a lot to tell you. And Cleo and I will fill Owen in on last night.”

“Sounds like I’m going to need that beer.” Owen headed straight back to the kitchen. Paused at the music room.

“That’s the newest one.”

“Lisbeth. I found her in the closet, in the studio. She’s just the beginning.”

“I’ll start.” Sonya opened the kitchen door for the animals, and began the story of the night before.

While she weighed in with a few details, Cleo got out the pot she wanted, turned the heat on under it.

Owen had a beer ready for Trey when he came in.

“Busy night,” Owen commented.

“For a while. You saw the portrait?”

“Yeah, and then you saw her.” He turned to Sonya. “Can’t say in the flesh, exactly.”

“It seemed like it. She was so vital, so vivid. I wondered if you’d have seen her, the rest of the party, like I did.”

“I think he might have. Sonya, start cutting the chicken into bite-sized pieces.” Cleo added the red bell pepper, the onion, and the celery she’d chopped to the sausage she’d already browned in the pot. “I think since Trey and I heard something, it’s different from the mirror anyway. But Owen’s a Poole, so I think so.”

“Maybe Collin saw something, too.” Sonya started on the chicken, with less speed and more precision than Cleo on the sausage.

“Maybe.” Owen gave the vegetables in the pot a stir. “I’m betting the paintings in there add a punch.”

“Agreed.” Trey got out wine, poured two glasses.

“Well, she didn’t like us hanging them, that’s for certain. Thanks.” Sonya stopped work on the chicken to take the wine. “And today?”

She took a gulp of wine, then put it down to work as she told them.

“Pulled out some stops.” Owen watched as Cleo added garlic and herbs to the vegetables, stirred.

“The fog didn’t touch you?” Trey asked.

“No. I pulled my legs up. I really think I’d have those ice burns if I hadn’t. I nearly called you. I’m not ashamed to admit I was close to the edge of panic. But it stopped. Just stopped, all of it.

“Clover was there,” she murmured. “I think the whole time, now that I look back. I think… I think I felt her.”

Her phone played Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down.”

“That’s right, and neither will we. Did I do this chicken right, Cleo?”

“Couldn’t be righter if you’d used a ruler. I need to sauté it. How about letting the kids in?”

“I’ve got it.” Owen went to the door, laughed. “Cat chases dogs. You should see this. She’s even got Jones going for it.”

“It’s like a game of tag,” Sonya said when they looked out. “She chases one, rounds back for the next. I guess she’s permanently It.”

“Smart girls take charge.” Pleased, Cleo went back to sauté the chicken. “I guess they can stay out awhile since they’re having fun.”

While Cleo stirred, the meat sizzled and the scent rose up.

“How long does that take?” Owen wanted to know when she put the browned chicken in with the rest.

“This part? According to my grand-mère, about ten minutes, then I add the spices and the rest, bring it all to a boil. Turn it down, cover it up. Forty-five minutes, stirring several times.”

“So about an hour. I think I’ll poke around a little.” He looked at Trey. “You in?”

In answer, Trey set down his beer.

“Not the Gold Room.”

Frustration darkened Trey’s eyes as he turned to Sonya. “Eventually, cutie, we’re going to have to open that door again.”

“Not tonight. Between last night and this morning… Not tonight. Eventually… You’re right, I know you’re right.”

“It’ll wait.”

“You’re looking to stir her up like I’m stirring up what’s in this pot.” Cleo glanced back over her shoulder. “Good. You’ll have to wait until I can put this on low for us to go with you.”

Sonya took a long, deep sip of wine. “And we need to let the pets in for that. She might send something after them. We stick together.”

When the phone played Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer,” Sonya gave it a dubious look.

“It’s about sticking together,” Owen pointed out. “And I figure we’ve got three portraits, and you and me? We went through the mirror, both ways. If we’re not halfway there, we’re damn close.”

“She’s been quiet since this morning. Recharging her evil batteries.”

“Cleo said she made some noise this afternoon.”

At Owen’s comment, Sonya spun around. “You didn’t tell me.”

“Oh, she makes some noise most days. And this wasn’t even as much as usual. She just wants me to know she’s there.”

Judging it time, Cleo added cayenne and paprika to the mix, blended it in. She dumped in crushed tomatoes, chicken broth, then because in her opinion it never hurt, added some of the wine before measuring out the rice.

“Needs to boil, then I’ll set the timer for thirty-five.”

“You said forty-five.”

“The last ten’s for the shrimp,” she told Owen. “And some prayers I didn’t screw anything up.”

“Smells great.” Trey rubbed a hand on Sonya’s shoulder. “I’ll let our four friends in. Third floor. I want to see Cleo’s—Owen’s painting anyway. And we’ll check the closet in there. In case. We won’t touch her door.”

Sonya nodded. “But it’ll piss her off, all of us going up there. Yeah, she deserves a slap after this morning. You’re right. You’re all right.”

When he let in the pets, Pye strutted over to leap on a chair at the casual dining table and began to wash.

All three dogs flopped down on the floor as if exhausted.

“She wore them out,” Trey observed.

“She’s already right at home.” Sonya nodded. “I know just how she feels. And it is home. I should be able to go right up to that door and say get the hell out of my house.”

“You were alone this morning,” Owen pointed out. “It shook you up, but it would’ve shaken anybody up.”

“It did, and maybe that’s part of the reason I’m saying don’t open that door. But I feel, honestly, it’s not the time to confront her like that. I think we need more first. But I don’t know more what.”

She huffed out a breath. “I need to arrange to go see Gretta Poole. I’ve been dragging my feet there, too. I’m angry, angry about what was done to my father and to Collin, to Clover’s babies. And Gretta Poole was part of that.”

“I didn’t—don’t—know her very well,” Trey began. “I guess she always seemed old to me. Old and…” He broke off with a shrug.

“He doesn’t want to dis a woman in her condition.” Owen sniffed at the pot. “I don’t have a problem with that. She is what she is, was what she was. Weak. My grandmother used to say a jellyfish had more spine than Gretta Poole. I never saw anything to contradict that.

“This is boiling.”

“I’m giving it a minute.” And another stir. “I’ll go with you, Sonya.”

“Thanks, but I think two strangers might be too much.”

“Cutie.” Trey stroked Sonya’s hair. “Everyone’s a stranger to her at this point.”

“I guess that’s true. Still, maybe it should be one-on-one. Especially since it might come to nothing.”

“If you change your mind, I’ll go. Otherwise? It might be interesting to spend some time in the manor alone. I really haven’t yet, except when I first got here and you were out.”

“And you went down to the servants’ quarters. Alone, in an empty house you knew was haunted.”

“See?” Satisfied, Cleo turned the heat to low, stirred a last time, then covered the pot. “Interesting. Every time I run errands you’re here alone—if not alone-alone.”

“And what happened today?” Sonya tossed back.

“Something you handled,” Cleo pointed out as she set the timer on her phone. “You don’t think I can do the same?”

“It’s not that. I just—”

“You’re going to make me think this isn’t my home, too.”

“Oh, that’s a low shot!”

“Why aim high?” Cleo stuck the phone in her pocket.

“Why don’t we—”

Trey broke off at two hot female looks. He held up both hands, stepped back.

“I’ll be gone longer than your errand runs. I can at least coordinate the visit to Ogunquit to the next time you plan to go into the village. And you could hang out there longer. Maybe have lunch with Anna, or scout out painting spots.”

Once again, Cleo planted a hand on her hip—a sure sign she’d dug in.

“You arrange the trip for when you can arrange it, and I’ll either go with you or stay here and take care of myself. Just like you do when I’m not here. We take care of each other, Son. But we both have to stand up for ourselves.”

“Will you call Trey or Owen if something happens?”

“Like you did today?” Now Cleo waved a hand for peace. “Well, you nearly did, so I’ll do the same. If something happens and I’m really frightened, I’ll SOS. Promise.”

“All right.”

“Good. Now let’s go rattle that bitch’s cage.”

Four phones blasted out “Times Like These.”

“Foo Fighters.” Owen shook his head and grinned. “If she wasn’t married, either way too young or way too old for me, depending, Clover’d be the girl of my dreams.”